Picking Up A Pencil Again

One of my birthday presents this year was a new light box.

That might not sound particularly exciting, but I've wanted one for a while. My old light box broke and I'd been borrowing Midge's. Unfortunately, hers only works when plugged in and, even then, it's temperamental. It stopped me from doing more when I last drew. Then, somewhere along the way, I stopped drawing altogether.

Looking back, I hadn't realised quite how long it had been.

The last drawing I completed was in September 2024. It was a picture of Jesus embracing a woman, potentially Mary Magdalene. A few weeks before that, I drew another image of Jesus, smiling with bright, radiant light surrounding Him.

I'll share both drawings below.

They were significant pieces for me because I hadn't really drawn people since university, more than twenty years earlier. Drawing faces and expressions is very different to drawing animals. Capturing a personality and the spark of life in an animal I can do, but doing that for humans is difficult. My own drawing ability isn’t at the level that makes it look realistic. I was, however, pleasantly surprised by how they turned out. Coloured pencils can be unforgiving, especially when working with skin tones, light, and detail.

Before those drawings, I'd spent several years drawing animals.

There was a tiger, a chimpanzee cuddling its baby, and a smiling bear that I created in 2021. Those will appear below as well.

I loved creating them. I really felt that I was drawing to my best ability again.

Headphones on. Worship music or an audiobook playing. Hours disappearing without me noticing.

It was therapeutic. It allows me to express everything I bottle up inside and release emotions that I often worry about releasing normally.

Ironically, even those drawings came after a sizeable gap. Prior to 2021, I hadn't done any artwork since 2019, some of which I shared on the blog at the time. Before that, most of my paintings and pencil work were created between 2014 and 2015.

Apparently, I have a habit of stopping for years at a time.

I don't really know why.

Part of it is probably how long each piece takes. Most of my coloured pencil drawings require somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five hours before I'm satisfied with them. That's a lot of time to dedicate to one creative project.

Life also gets busy.

Over the years there has been theology study, ministry, blogging, church responsibilities, the ordination process, family life, and everything else that fills the calendar. Sometimes drawing simply slips down the list. Other times, I suspect I just don't feel inspired enough to start.

The strange thing is that I always miss it when I stop. I miss how it helps me regulate. I miss being so consumed in it that it’s the one thing that can shut the whole world away.

Over the last decade, I've found that coloured pencils are definitely my preferred medium. My brain seems to understand colour, layering, and texture better than paint. I can visualise what I'm trying to achieve and slowly build towards it.

Paint never quite clicked in the same way. Neither did traditional graphite drawings. Coloured pencils feel natural, as if I should have always used them. 

The process is slow, but that's part of what I enjoy. There is something calming about watching a blank page gradually become something recognisable.

The artwork itself isn't really the point. It's the process.

Back in 2024, Hannah became convinced my artwork was good enough to sell. I disagreed. She persisted. Eventually, I gave in and took a stall at our church Christmas fair. We printed artwork onto mugs, postcards, and prints of different sizes.

Did I sell out?

Not even close.

Did I make enough to cover the table hire and give myself a little spending money?

Surprisingly, yes.

The biggest lesson was that people preferred the smaller items. The original artwork is all A3, but the postcards, mugs, and smaller prints were far more popular. I still don't really think about art in those terms. I don't draw for other people. I draw for me.

That doesn't mean others can't enjoy it. It simply means the enjoyment comes from creating the piece, not from what happens afterwards.

Another Christmas fair is approaching and, at the moment, I don't have anything new to display.

That's something of a problem. It also feels like a good excuse.

A new light box is sitting beside me. There is a pile of drawing paper waiting to be used. The coloured pencils are still exactly where I left them.

Everything I need is already here.

Maybe that's why receiving the light box felt so significant. It wasn't just a birthday present. It was a reminder of something I've neglected and genuinely miss. Now I just need to pick up a pencil, open the A3 pad, and start drawing again.